


I Know, Baby, You're Frustrated

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-20
Updated: 2011-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-19 15:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why don't you," she said, drawing out every word as she stepped in Mercedes's personal space, "mind your own goddamn business."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know, Baby, You're Frustrated

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Take Off Your Clothes" by Morningwood.

Their third run-through of "River Deep, Mountain High" was interrupted by Mercedes's phone, wailing "Defying Gravity" from across the room.

"Hold up," Mercedes said, and she headed to her bag to grab it, popping the pause button on her iPod deck on the way. She dug her phone out from underneath her notebooks and flipped it open. "What's up, baby?"

"Hello to you, too," Kurt's voice said in her ear, a smile evident in his tone. "Just wanted to know if my best girl was up for some John Hughes and a makeover tonight. It's been far too long since I've gotten to experiment on anyone with a skin tone that isn't...well, mine."

Mercedes smiled. "That sounds lovely, but I'm gonna have to take a rain check. The ice queen and I are busy putting together a number that'll make you cry into your overpriced cardigan. Sorry, boo."

She was greeted to a heavy sigh. "Fine, then," Kurt said. "Maybe I'll see if Finn's still scared enough of my dad to let me do his hair. Not quite as good as a facial and _Pretty in Pink_ , but I suppose it will have to suffice."

Mercedes grinned at her phone as she hung up, then turned back to Santana. Who was bent over, hands on her knees, panting. Mercedes raised her eyebrows. "What's your problem?"

Santana glared at her, visibly forcing her breathing to slow. "You stupid choreography is going to kill me, that's my problem. What are you, anyway, the freaking Energizer Bunny?"

Rolling her eyes, Mercedes tossed her phone back into her bag and went to join Santana. "Sylvester's seriously gone soft on you guys since Kurt and I quit the team if you can't even handle a measly few laps around my basement. This is Tina Turner, girl. Swaying on the spot ain't gonna cut it."

Santana drew herself back up to her full height. "Coach Sylvester," she said, arching one eyebrow, "puts her Cheeerios on a diet that doesn't exactly promote high energy and good health, if you remember. Which you should, considering how _crazy_ you were for it."

Oh, right. Mercedes winced. "She still has you all on that ED crap? Girl, you have got to take better care of yourself than that. Eat some solid food once in a while, seriously. You might stop feeling nauseous all the time, even." She knew she was treading on thin ice here, but she was so _over_ Sylvester pushing these girls around. Unfortunately, Santana didn't seem to appreciate her concern.

"Why don't you," she said, drawing out every word as she stepped in Mercedes's personal space, "mind your own _goddamn_ business."

Mercedes glared down at her. "And why don't _you_ ever stand up for yourself, if you're so tough?"

Santana pushed herself even closer to Mercedes at that, but Merecedes didn't back down. No skinny-ass cheerleader pushed her around. Santana fixed her with a glare; their faces were inches apart. "Oh trust me, Jones, you don't know what tough is."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm."

"Then why don't you show me," she said, and she shoved Santana back a step.

Santana let out a shriek and launched herself at Mercedes, scratching at her shoulder and scrabbling at her hair. Santana was scrappy, Mercedes would give her that, but Mercedes had a good sixty pounds and a year's worth of women's self-defense classes on her -- thanks, mom --- and within a minute Mercedes had her on the ground, legs pinned beneath her hips and wrists beneath her forearms.

And damn, this close up? Santana's murder face looked more hilarious than anything. "What is your _problem_ ," Santana growled.

" _My_ problem?" Mercedes said. "You're the one who jumped me, what the hell is _your_ problem?"

"You shoved me!"

"You were threatening me, you jackass!"

Santana made a wordless, frustrated noise, somewhere between a scream and a growl, and wriggled beneath Mercedes. Mercedes held fast, because there was something going on here, Santana was trying to take something out on her, and she was getting to the _bottom_ of this, dammit.

"Girl," she said, "you can struggle all you want, but I'm not moving until you chill the hell out. You're the one who came to me. You're the one who picked this song. You're the one who wants this dinner at Breadstix so bad you were willing to go to someone you've barely spoken two words to before. I will help you with whatever the hell you're trying to prove here, but I will _not_ put up with your shit."

All of the fight seemed to go out of Santana, without so much as a warning. She dropped her head back to the floor with a soft thunk and closed her eyes and just...breathed. Her breath was still coming fast and short, Mercedes noticed with some concern. "I hate you," Santana muttered, giving one last feeble twist of her hips.

"No, you don't," Mercedes said, amused. She shifted to get a more solid hold and felt Santana jerk a bit beneath her. Huh. "You hate Sue Sylvester and anyone who tries to talk smack about your little blonde girltoy. You kind of like me."

Santana's eyes snapped open and locked on Mercedes's, glaring for all they were worth. "In your dreams, Aretha."

Mercedes snorted. "Didn't mean it like that, but I guess now we know where _your_ head's at. And hey," she added, watching Santana closely for a reaction, "I guess I can't say I'd be _entirely_ opposed. Skinny and silicone ain't usually my type, but I guess I wouldn't kick you out of bed."

Santana made that noise again, and Mercedes smirked. "You are so full of yourself, Aretha," she growled, but her breath was still coming fast. She was doing an admirable job of trying to hide it, to be sure, but it was kind of obvious, seeing as her chest was _right under_ Mercedes's and all. "The only--"

Mercedes cut her off with a kiss.

For a moment Santana didn't move, and Mercedes panicked, mind racing, trying to find the exact words to play this off as a joke or an insult and hide the fact that she had    
  
_no idea_   
  
what she was doing, and then Santana's eyes fluttered closed -- Mercedes was watching, she couldn't seem to look away -- and her wrists flexed under Mercedes's arms and she opened her mouth and kissed back.

It was hard, and wet, and there was a lot more teeth than Mercedes had been led to believe the average first kiss was meant to contain, but _fuck_ if it wasn't hot. Her neck started to hurt from the unfortunate angle so she shifted her body, just a bit, trying to get a more comfortable position, and her thigh slipped in between both of Santana's, and Santana's hips jerked, and Mercedes forgot how to think, just for a minute. Which wasn't exactly helped by the fact that each inhale was making Santana's breast brush against the inside of Mercedes's arm, and it wasn't even much but it was enough to make Mercedes want more, want to drag her thigh up and shift her weight in and run her hands up Santana's sides, and as she was thinking that Santana wriggled one of her hands free -- Mercedes must not have been concentrating, so sue her -- and raked it through Mercedes hair, dug her nails into her scalp, and it felt so good, so much better than it had any right to feel, but it also hurt just enough to jolt through the fog in Mercedes's brain that was going 'sex sex sex' and remind her where exactly she was and who exactly she was doing this with.

She gasped and jumped back, sitting back on her heels. Santana whined as she pulled away, just for a second, before she cut it off and wrenched her own eyes open.

"We should, um," Mercedes trailed off. She couldn't seem to look away from Santana's lips, red and wet and a little swollen, usually-impeccable gloss smeared around them. Mercedes dragged the back of her hand across her own mouth and sure enough, it came away covered in that same lip gloss.

"Yeah," Santana muttered. She pulled her legs out from under Mercedes and sat up, yanking her hair out of its ponytail in order to smooth it back and redo it.

"It's just, my mom's home," Mercedes said, not sure why she was reassuring Santana -- _if_ she was reassuring Santana. She stood up and made her way over to her iPod, busying herself with it. "Come on, we're going to have to run through this at least twice more if we want to win. I don't know what my boy Kurt's got up his frilly sleeve, but I know he's going to be the one to beat, and I know how hard it's going to be to do it." When she turned back to Santana, she was straightening her Cheerios-regulation skirt and adjusting her top.

She noticed Mercedes looking, after a moment, and threw her shoulders back and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes, pressed play, and got into position.


End file.
